Hunter. Diana Palmer
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she asked softly.
He lifted a heavy, dark eyebrow. “When I can find something worth smiling at,” he returned with faint sarcasm.
That puts me in my place, she thought. She turned. “I have to have my coffee or I can’t function.”
“I’ll make the coffee. Get dressed,” he said tersely, dragging his eyes away from the soft curves that gown outlined so sweetly.
“But…” She turned and saw the sudden flash of his dark eyes, and stopped arguing.
“I said get dressed,” he repeated in a tone that made threats, especially when it was accompanied by his slow, bold scrutiny of her body.
She ran for it. He’d never looked at her in exactly that way before, and it wasn’t flattering. It was simply the look of a man who knew how to enjoy a woman. Lust, for lack of a better description. She darted into her room and closed the door.
She refused to allow herself to think about that smoldering look he’d given her. She dressed in jeans and a pink knit top for travel, dressing for comfort rather than style, and she wore sneakers. She left her hair long and Hunter could complain if he liked, she told herself.
By the time she got to the small kitchen, Hunter was pouring fresh coffee into two mugs. He produced cinnamon toast, deliciously browned, and pushed the platter toward her as she sat down with him at the table.
“I didn’t expect breakfast,” she said hesitantly.
“You need feeding up,” he replied without expression. “You’re too thin. Get that in you.”
“Thank you.” She nibbled on toast and sipped coffee, trying not to stare. It was heart-breakingly cozy, to be like this with him. She tried to keep her eyes from darting over him, but she couldn’t help it. He looked very nice in dark slacks and a white shirt with a navy blazer and striped tie. He wore his hair short and conventionally cut these days, and he was the picture of a successful businessman. Except for his darkness and the shape of his eyes and the very real threat of his dark skills. He was an intimidating man. Even now, it was hard going just to make routine conversation. Jenny didn’t even try. She just sat, working on her second piece of toast.
Hunter felt that nervousness in her. He knew she felt intimidated by him, but it was a reaction he couldn’t change. He was afraid to let her get close to him in any way. She was a complication he couldn’t afford in his life.
“You talk more at work and around other people,” he remarked when he’d finished the piece of toast he’d been eating and was working on his second cup of coffee.
“There’s safety in numbers,” she said without looking up.
He looked at her until she lifted her head and then he trapped her blue eyes with his black ones and refused to let her look away. The fiery intensity of the shared look made her body go taut with shocked pleasure, and her breath felt as if it had been suspended forever.
“Safety for whom?” he asked quietly. “For you?” His chin lifted, and he looked so arrogantly unapproachable that she wanted to back away. “What are you afraid of, Jennifer? Me?”
Yes, but she wasn’t going to let him know it. She finished her coffee. “No,” she said. “Of course not. I just meant that it’s hard to make conversation with you.”
He leaned back in his chair, his lean, dark hand so large that it completely circled the coffee mug. “Most people talk a lot and say nothing,” he replied.
She nodded. Her lips tugged up. “A friend of mine once said that it was better to keep one’s mouth closed and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.”
He didn’t smile, but his eyes did, for one brief instant. He lifted the mug to his lips, watching Jenny over its rim. She was lovely, he thought with reluctant delight in her beauty. She seemed to glow in the early morning light, radiant and warm. He didn’t like the feelings she kindled in him. He’d never known love. He didn’t want to. In his line of work, it was too much of a luxury.
“We’d better get going,” he said.
“Yes.” She got up and began to tidy the kitchen, putting detergent into the water as it filled the sink.
He stood, watching her collect the dishes and wash them. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes narrowed as they sketched the soft lines of her body with slow appreciation.
He remembered the revealing red dress she’d worn the night they’d staked out her apartment, and his expression hardened. He hoped she wasn’t going to make a habit of wearing anything revealing while they were alone together. Jennifer was his one weak spot. But fortunately, she didn’t know that and he wasn’t planning to tell her.
“I’ll get your suitcases,” he said abruptly. He shouldered away from the wall and went out.
She relaxed. She’d felt that scrutiny and it had made her nervous. She wondered why he’d stared at her so intently. Probably he was thinking up ways to make her even more uncomfortable. He did dislike her intensely. For which she thanked God. His hostility would protect her from doing anything really stupid. Like throwing herself at him.
He had her bags by the front door when she was through. It was early fall, and chilly, so she put on a jacket on her way to the door. He opened the door for her, leaving her to lock up as he headed toward the elevator with the luggage. They didn’t speak all the way to the car.
Jenny was aware of Hunter’s height as they walked to the car in the parking lot under her apartment building. He towered over her, and the way he moved was so smooth and elegant, he might have been gliding.
He put the luggage into the back of his sedan and opened the passenger door for her. He had excellent manners, she thought, and wondered if his mother had taught him the social graces or if he’d learned them in the service. So many questions she wanted to ask, but she knew he’d just ignore them, the way he ignored any questions he didn’t want to answer.
He drove the way he did everything else, with confidence and poise. Near collisions, bottlenecks, slow traffic, nothing seemed to disturb him. He eased the car in and out of lanes with no trouble at all, and soon they were at the airport.
She noticed that he didn’t request seats together. But the ticket agent apparently decided that they wanted them, to her secret delight, and put them in adjoining seats. That was when she realized how lovesick she was, hungry for just the accidental brush of his arm or leg. She had to get a grip on herself!
He sat completely at ease in his seat while she ground her teeth together and tried to remember all the statistics on how safe air travel really was.
“Now what’s wrong?” he murmured, glancing darkly down at her as the flight attendants moved into place to demonstrate emergency procedures.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Then why do you have a death-grip on the arms of your seat?” he asked politely.
“So that I won’t get separated from it when we crash,” she replied, closing her eyes tight.
He chuckled softly. “I never took you for a coward,” he said. “Are you the same woman who helped me set up enemy agents only a few weeks ago?”
“That was different,” she protested. She lifted her blue eyes to his dark ones and her gaze was trapped. Her breath sighed out, and she wondered which was really the more dangerous, the plane or Hunter.
He couldn’t seem to drag his eyes from hers, and he found that irritating. At close quarters, she was beautiful. Dynamite. All soft curves and a sexy voice and a mouth that he